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“The drunk watched it come from between the man’s lips, a small nebulous cloud that kind of looked like the foreigner was blowing a bubble of fog in his unconscious state. The shroud floated silently from his lips and hovered over his chest, almost sitting on his sternum. In the adjacent cell, Connie forgot to breathe when he saw a face — a woman’s face — manifest in the cloud, looking about the cell in slow motion. The long lank hair, albino white, hung about her doughy pale face in wet strands. The closed mouth was too wide for the face and didn’t appear to have lips, just a thin line curving into a vague amphibious Mona Lisa smile which took Connie back five decades to his childhood pet frog, Leap. The black eyes moved slowly about the room, left and right. That nightmarish countenance turned to Connie and held him in its vacant gaze. He saw how the mouth opened and closed, almost like a fish…or was she saying something to him? The eyes weren’t completely black. Connie made out a fine ring of white around the rims of those hallucinogenic pupils. Her eyes were two solar eclipses.”

“The rhythmic creak of quiet footsteps came from the other side of the door. Ruth paused before bowing down to peer through the same keyhole her son had looked through. There was nothing in there except an empty room in worse condition than theirs, peeling walls, mould, grime, no bed, no nothing, save for an undeniable draught of melancholy blowing through the keyhole.”

“And for a very brief moment, the boy thought he was the audience at a strange black light theatre play, where the daemonic hand puppets come up out of the ground from screaming Hell far below. If they were the hand puppets of brooding horror, then the 14-year-old could only imagine the demon’s hands up inside them, working their innards.”

“Big Tom Daly didn’t regard himself as squeamish, but in that infinitesimal moment, Big Tom did indeed scream as an eight-year-old boy might. Never had he felt more alive as he landed on that soft-limbed bed of death. He let out a helpless rollicking wail before rolling off his uncomfortably comfortable rigour Mortis mattress with prickling fear and repulsion.”

“Bill’s conscience whispered to him: Only Billy isn’t your son, not really, and you know that but you don’t want to admit it. Billy was a baby you rescued…stole maybe…from Halloween cult freaks seven years ago, almost to the night. You talk about girls being an unknown quantity? Wrong, Bill, wrong. Those things… those Satanists maybe…on the moors that night are the only unknown quantity you need to worry your sweet little head about. What was really lurking inside those Halloween costumes? That’s right, Billy, the one-in-a-billion-baby, lotsa B’s, never returned to his rightful parents.”

“You’ve done something wrong and you know you’ve done something wrong. Sometimes we’re caught, sometimes we’re not. Justice comes in the strangest of forms. It will float to the surface sooner or later and wash up on your doorstep.”

“Mike walked about the cavernous basement, alarmed at the serious mould infestation and even more perturbed by the slithering amphibians gathering at his feet. Mike traced the black splotches of mould that took him to a blind spot behind the infinite staircase which was very quickly becoming the stairway to Hell.”

“To rise, you must fall. To fall, you must rise. You are the light in the darkness. You are the darkness in the light. You are the servant who sits at the right hand of Death. You are Death who sits at the right hand of the servant. Fire and Water. You will meet Death not once but twice as it is written, and you will show It your face. Water and Fire. The kiss of death, the kiss of life. Into the hole, you shall descend to judge the dead. From the hole, you shall ascend to judge the living.”